


Russia Does It Better

by kaijusizefeels



Series: Russia Does It Better [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Happy Birthday Napoleon Solo, Hilarity Ensues, I hope, Inspired by Art, M/M, Napoleon and Illya goes to an adult shop, Sex Toys, or modern era, weirdly progressive 60s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 04:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10235762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijusizefeels/pseuds/kaijusizefeels
Summary: It’s Napoleon’s own fault. He was the one who cajoled Illya into going inside that little adult toy shop on Ford and Sixth.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Atanau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanau/gifts).



> Inspired by Atanau's amazing image [post](http://atanau-art.tumblr.com/post/158262092248). I've been trying to write for months and then inspirations all of a sudden. Mistakes are all mine.

It’s Napoleon’s own fault. He was the one who cajoled Illya into going inside that little adult toy shop on Ford and Sixth. 

“You think sex is lacking?” Illya had asked with equal part indignation and genuine concern.

Napoleon was quick to reassure him that was most definitely not the case. “I just thought that it might be educational for you, Peril,” he smiled and threw in a wink for good measure.

Eventually, Illya mulishly agreed because it was Napoleon’s birthday and he is a doting boyfriend. 

Napoleon should have known better because as soon as they cross into the small shop filled from floor to ceiling with dildos and floggers and whatever the heck those things are — good Lord, Napoleon even feels a blush creeping up his face — Illya immediately says, "no."

Napoleon sighs, thinking that this is when they’d leave when Illya drags him purposely further into the shop.

A sales assistant starts toward them; perhaps she had interpreted Illya's outburst as a call for help. Napoleon's giant of a boyfriend, however, scowls hard enough for her to retreat from her decision.

Illya stops at the leather harnesses. "Look at this poor stitching," he snorts while pulling hard on the seams. "Would fall apart as soon as you're in this."

"Are you saying I need to lose weight?" But he is happy enough to leave the aisle. Napoleon had felt himself going slightly cross-eyed trying how to figure out where and how everything is supposed to go.

"And these," Illya paws at the handcuffs, fuzzy or otherwise, dangling on display. "American made." He yanks hard enough on one that Napoleon can see the littles chains starting to bend. 

"Don't break it or we'd have to pay for it!" He quickly grabs it from Illya.

"I will find better Russian-made ones for you," Illya says with all seriousness.

They were starting to get looks as they wander from aisle to aisle occasionally accompanied by Illya's complaints of poor quality and declarations of the superiority of Russian-made products. Napoleon is starting to wonder if perhaps Illya wants to give up spy craft and open a Russian-made-only adult toy shop instead.

Illya tuts like a middle school teacher when he sees the "Beginner's Guide to Rope Bondage" poster on display. Feeling the beginning of a lecture incoming, perhaps on how the KGB taught better knotting techniques or something, Napoleon quickly pulls him toward the multitude rows of dildos instead.

Honestly, Napoleon wasn't looking to buy or add anything to their routines. He had passed by the nondescript shop several times and had thought only of how adorable a flustered Illya might look facing an overwhelming selection of sex toys. He didn't plan for more than a quick excursion.

He should have known that Illya's inherent _Illya-ness_ , for lack of a better term, would make everything more difficult for him.

Illya is currently sizing up an overly generous endowed piece of silicone, in an ugly shade of purple, with narrow eyes as if the dildo had personally just insulted Russia. "It doesn't talk," Napoleon mutters, and Peril has the audacity to gape at him as if he is the one that is unhinged.

Napoleon, unlike his namesake, knows the value of a timely retreat.

"We should go Illya," he says only to turn around and finds himself sans one six foot five boyfriend. How Illya can move so quickly and quietly is beyond him.

Napoleon eventually finds Illya, mesmerized, in the butt plug section. Whatever grievances he has for dildos does not seem to extend to butt plugs.

"We should get one," Illya says as soon as Napoleon comes to stand next to him. He turns to look at Napoleon with pleading puppy dog eyes that make Napoleon willing to do anything, anything, for him. "Make you wear one all day," he whispers into Napoleon's ear. "Keep me inside you."

Napoleon nods agreeably only to see Illya grabbing the butt plug cousin of the previous monstrosity he had a stare down with. He deflates.

Other than Napoleon himself and perhaps his doctor, Illya is the third person in the world most familiar with Napoleon's posterior these days. Napoleon trusts him but in this case, "Illya, I think that's too much for me."

Illya stares down at the item in his hand, at Napoleon, and back at the rows of other plugs. "Perhaps a smaller one?" Napoleon suggests helpfully, trying not to sound too eager. 

Instead of putting down the one he grabbed, Illya simply picks up a variety sized set instead. "We will work up," he says before heading toward the checkout line.

Napoleon grabs an extra large bottle of lubes on the way. He has a feeling they'll need it.

When he finally gets to the register, he notices that Illya has also picked up another item, a sheer apron trimmed with frills and laces. Illya blushes when he catches Napoleon looking at it. "Don't wear it if Chop Shop Girl stops by," he mutters.

Napoleon laughs and pays the cashier. He got his wish after all.

And perhaps even better is that once they're back in the privacy of Napoleon's car, Illya, stroking the curls at his nape, says, "we have sturdy Russian-made ropes back at home." 

"Well Peril, that sounds like a challenge," his voice is steady, but Napoleon knows that Illya can feel him trembling minutely with excitement at the suggestion. He's looking at Napoleon like a wolf looks at a steak.


End file.
